


It's Of You I'd Dream

by Moorishflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't have a near-death experience and come out the other end without any scars to show for it. Title comes from The Dandy Warhols' "Sleep."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Of You I'd Dream

  
To Sam, angels are a paradox. He can't think of any other word that accurately describes the weirdness of beings that require rest, the same as most every other creature on the planet, but are simultaneously incapable of sleeping. The first time he'd walked in on Castiel 'dreaming' is particularly memorable – there's something about seeing a guy lying ramrod straight on a bed, eyes half-open, reacting to things that _aren't there_ that tends to stick with you.

And Sam doesn't mean 'reacting' the way that normal people - _humans_ \- react to things in their sleep, like laughing if you brush a feather over their face or smiling if you hold a cookie under their nose. He means reacting like…like Castiel is still awake. Full on _responding to questions_, and then not remembering any of it when he 'wakes up' a few minutes later. Usually this happens so late at night that Sam doesn't catch it, though – Castiel chooses to sleep when the chances of being interrupted (or _seen_) are next to none. But Sam's sleep schedule is more fucked up than Dean's will ever be, so sometimes he catches the angel in the act.

Gabriel is nowhere near as private. Gabriel sprawls wherever he wants and then just…goes into standby mode (which has become Sam's default term for it, because there's really nothing else to compare it to), without even considering what's around him or who might be watching. It's not an issue unless he does it in public, and then it's…sort of hard to explain (the words 'full body paralysis' and 'massive brain trauma' come up more than once).

Gabriel doesn't seem to care. Sam supposes a near-death experience will do that to you.

~

Gabriel tells Sam that angels don't dream.

"It isn't sleep," he says. "No sleep means no REM, no REM means no dreaming. Ergo, it's impossible for angels to dream."

But Sam knows that he's lying. Because he's seen Castiel dream, inasmuch as he _can_, and he's seen Gabriel do it, too. Reacting to things that aren't there like they are.

Frankly? It's fucking terrifying. There's a lot of writhing and sometimes there are small bursts of light, more like a laser show than a person (_being_) at rest. Gabriel never talks, not the way that Castiel will (especially if you ask him questions), but he doesn't really need to. You don't have to be a mind reader to know that, whatever it is that Gabriel's not-dreaming about, it's not rainbows and kittens and ice cream sundaes.

Sam endures it for weeks, figuring that if Gabriel wants to talk about it, he'll talk about it. He isn't like Dean, who'll keep all his bitterness and anger and fear to himself because only _he_ can stand to face his own problems, and he isn't like Castiel, who's so new to emotion in general that things just sort of…spill out of him (without warning, and it is _really_ weird when you end up talking to a guy who continuously calls you an 'abomination' about his dwindling faith in God).

Sam endures it, and then, one day, he realizes that he just _can't_, anymore. The curiosity is killing him, yeah, but even more than that, he's tired of Gabriel looking so _haunted_ all the time. Like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So he brings it up in probably the least tactful way possible, which he thinks Gabriel would appreciate, if he were, you know, his regular self.

"So, what's up with your nightmares?"

Gabriel levels him with a look that Sam thinks is usually reserved for the mentally handicapped and the tragically misinformed. Sam resolutely stands his ground (so to speak), dropping down onto the bed across from Gabriel and crossing his legs, settling in for the long haul. Dean and Castiel are out getting something to eat – knowing Castiel, it will take them at least an hour to find a place that suits the angel's somewhat delicate palate, go through the agony of placing an order, and then actually make their way back to the motel.

Plenty of time.

"I don't have nightmares," Gabriel says gruffly. "I don't _sleep_."

"Bullshit," Sam says. "You might not sleep, but whatever it is that you do is close enough. And I know nightmares when I see them, Gabriel. So spill."

Gabriel purses his lips. "No."

"No?"

"Yeah, Winchester. _No_. Even if I _were_ having nightmares, they wouldn't be any of your business. So you can just piss right off."

And, for a while, that's all that Gabriel will say on the matter.

~

Sam pesters Gabriel probably more than is healthy – after all, he's seen what archangels are capable of, has seen what they can do, and, more importantly, what they can _survive_. He knows that Gabriel, for all that he's apparently one of the youngest, is also a soldier. That he probably knows five thousand different ways to snap Sam's body in half like a twig, without even using any of his nifty angel powers. Just sheer brute strength.

But Sam also knows that Gabriel's nightmares haven't gotten any better. They haven't gotten worse, either, as far as Sam knows, but they haven't stopped. They probably _won't_ stop – Sam has an idea of what Gabriel is dreaming about and, if he's right, it's not the sort of thing you get over if you're just given a few weeks of rest and a pat on the hand. It's like Dean, who still frequently dreams of Hell.

Like Sam, who dreams about Jessica at least once a week.

"You should try talking to someone," Sam suggests. Another day, another motel, and another food run – this time it's him and Gabriel, not Castiel and Dean. Sam's thinking Thai food, if only because Dean prefers Chinese, and because he thinks that Castiel's culinary experience should go beyond pizza and diner food. "Anyone. Hell, _make_ someone. Snap a therapist into life or something, you've done it before."

Gabriel glares at him, and Sam shrugs.

"Or not," Sam says. Appeasing the pissed-off archangel is pretty high on his list of priorities. Gabriel glances at him, a considering sort of look, but doesn't say anything else.

At least, not until later that night, when he _climbs into bed next to Sam_.

"_Jesus_," Sam bites out, immediately covering his mouth – in the other bed, Dean snorts and then rolls over onto his side. Sam's surprised he didn't wake up. Usually Dean's a pretty light sleeper.

"Nope," Gabriel murmurs, and wriggles until he's comfortably lodged against Sam's side. "Guess again."

"Gabriel, what are you _doing_?"

"I hate talking," Gabriel says, and then pauses. "Well, no, that's partially a lie. I love to talk. But not about this."

It takes Sam a moment to understand, but when he does he makes a soft noise, a wordless 'oh' of sound. And then, "I'm not the best person for this. I mean, you don't even like me."

"I like you well enough," Gabriel says, and then presses his face against Sam's neck. "Now shut up and let me use you like a hot water bottle, I'm cold."

"You're burning up," Sam corrects gently, and it's true – Gabriel feels at _least_ five degrees hotter than any normal person should feel. The archangel snorts.

"I experience sensation in a different way…and that includes heat. What you're feeling isn't what _I'm_ feeling. Now shut up, I'm trying to rest."

They lie there, in the dark and the silence, for what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes.

Sam can tell _exactly_ when Gabriel…drops off to sleep, or whatever it is he does. His eyes don't close entirely, but there's something looser about him, something more vulnerable. Sam cautiously touches the archangel's shoulder – no response.

"Gabriel," he says softly.

"Mm," Gabriel mutters, and then tosses his arm over Sam's waist, his hand cupping Sam's hip.

It's surprisingly comfortable. And, with Gabriel, Sam doesn't even need to use a blanket.

"Sleep tight," he whispers, and then closes his eyes


End file.
